


Through the Looking Glass

by rextyle



Category: Gravity Falls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22399816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rextyle/pseuds/rextyle
Summary: What was with reality? Shifting, turning, re-imagining against his feet. Things didn't add up, memories came lost to him and the world itself seeming to turn on a whim. Dipper struggles to find grounding or make sense of the world. Soon his chase to understand the world becomes violent and dark, distorting and sending him on a chase through different fairy tale stories and lands; all the while he tries to avoid and comes face to face again and again with a strange, demonic, triangular figure that bursts through his world again and again, dropping hints and furthering his pursuit back towards sanity.
Relationships: Bill Cipher & Dipper Pines, Bill Cipher | Dipper Pines
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. Dipperella

**Author's Note:**

> So I’m a *huge* sucker for BillDip, you have no idea, but this is….uh not. Anyways, these two are great. And my favorite little shits ever. Yep.

Dipper rubbed at his head. It was late. The night had long since yawned over the slow, quiet suburb, casting shades of darkness over the room and leaving behind small titters of crickets and gentle suburban life to sound just outside his window that hung between the two beds. 

Most people tended to have their own rooms by this age, honestly. Most people tended to yearn for space, for independence. Independence was nice. He liked it well enough. But honestly, having a roommate wasn’t something he wasn’t quite so opposed to either, considering.

Beyond the window sat another bed, said roommate blanketed and draped in the night’s dark hour, where the slumbering figure slept. His sister.

Sharp fingers dug against his forehead, mind numb as he played pressure deeper against the building pain. While he couldn’t quite work out how long it had been since it had started, the pain receded deep, sharp and white hot against his skull. So much for sleeping...or thinking. Or _anything._ He winced hard, the building pain breaking deeper, doubling against his thoughts.

A weak sigh left frustrated lips, and he moved slowly to squint out into his bedside table clock, feeling exhausted, drained and far too worn.

 _A glowing, dark clock ticked, blood spilling from it in flashes of_ **_deep monochrome_ ** _\- a sea of scattering spiders spilling outward like oil--and the desk beneath made from pulsing flesh..._

The teen blinked, breath leaving him in a cold rush. A silence settled in. His brain hammer numbly, a shock of emotion and adrenaline biting into his senses.

It was just a clock. A clock, normal, average. Digital plainly letters showing “11:34 PM” clearly across the surface.

He pressed his fingers deeper against his forehead, grimacing before peering around the room, heart rocketing, stomach churning in sick confusion.

What the fuck had that _been_...?

Everything around him was the same now. Quiet and still. He made out the distant sound of a TV playing from downstairs slipping passed the floorboards and carpet. The muffled and familiar laughter of his parents. The gentle passing of a car outside. He stared at the dim room.

“Dipper?”

A voice yawned, a figure turning over to him. He glanced over to the space his sister occupied on the bed opposite him and continued running a hand hard against his birthmark to try and ease that spiking pain that continued to grow, building against him by the minute. God, it was too much.

 _“Do you know_ **_why_ ** _you have that birthmark, Pine Tree?”_

His head by now was deafening with pain, the dull voice echoing as if from a distant dream or a really bad, long forgotten memory. It was entirely overwhelming, filling his brain, his focus.

“Go back to sleep, Mabel.” He murmured, and she yawned, sitting up against the tiny wooden room, in the dusk and dark, the musk enveloping him, causing his headache to strengthen, his stomach to turn.

Wait...what? Wooden room? Musk...?

Hadn’t it just been…?

The boy looked around sharply. He was _certain_ it had just been...a regular room?....Hadn’t it?

She blinked at him owlishly, tiredly, the small cracks and holes in the old, wooden walls casting slivering lines of light from outside, the only way to make anything out between them.

They were practically scrunched together in the small space now, two bundles against a large gristley, and entirely too itchy blanket; the room heavily smelling of rot and musk and age.

“I...w-what...?” He asked dumbly, looking all around, sitting up fast enough for his head to hit something solid. A ceiling...? How had that…? His chest clenched in very vivid confused, dazed disbelief.

Mabel rubbed sleepily at her eyes, yawning again. “NNnn...what’s up, Dipper...?”

“I…” He cast his gaze around, confusion rolling against him. “Wasn’t this just…?” A loud clattering outside caused him to jump, and his eyes tracked beneath the large slit underneath an old wooden door to make out a pair of shadows. Someone was exclaiming loudly, footsteps creaking and whining loud against old wood.

“I KNEW I shouldn’t’a let them off so early tonight! I SWEAR! Buncha ingraits. Wait till those two wake up tomorrow, Soos!”

Mabel sighed in her classic moping form, flopping down with a subtle poof of dust. “Boooo.” She said softly, nudging her brother in the side. “Looks like anoooother big day tomorrow, huh, bro-bro?” She sighed, peering over with a tight, weak smile.

What…? He blinked back at her, still flooded numb with confusion. Feeling entirely off balance from the situation around him. This...was this even right? 

“Um...yeah.” He said uneasily, scratching at the back of his head, far too distracted in trying to piece together what was happening. 

It was still hurting. A _lot_ actually.

The boy blinked around and abruptly, for a flash of a moment, just a second of surging static, heard an insanely cheerful and all but eccentric laugh bursting out around, swarming into him. It was only for a split second, a flash of a heartbeat. Just a second of demented shapes and colors. White noise in the fabric of space - a flashed image of him kneeling at a yellow road, spiraling up to a chaotic mess of triangular shapes and blue flames and floating, dismembered eyes pinpointed directly at him.

He blinked again, feeling sick, bringing his head back down to his hand, shaking and sweaty.

What...the hell…?

Mabel prodded at him gently, sleepily.

“Hey. We should get some sleep, Dip-n-dot.” She yawned, tugging at his flimsy sack made shirt to urge him back down to do just that. He winced, feeling completely sick. Unbalanced. Skin still crawling in pinpricks of nerves and nausea.

“Y...yeah. You’re…” He looked across the dark space. “...You’re probably right.”

He tried to settle right back into that hard, dirty floor, staring uneasily against the low ceiling. 

All he needed was some sleep...right? 

Things...things would make sense in the morning. All of this would make sense.

 _“Hey, why so BLUE, PINE TREE?”_ An image flashed of a blue triangular form, mocking and beaming in content; as if from a long distance, a washing dream that came and went, words drowning out against his mind. 

Dipper wrestled with these strange images, ideas, and feelings that overwhelmed him, spilling into his unconscious mind. A familiar voice that came and went, blinking in and out. Dark fingers grasping at him from a void, through his hair, his skin, the muscles of his chest. And he struggled, tugging against the gristly blanket in a twist of fingers and groans, tossing around throughout the night in a stiff, cold sweat. The night came and went fast - breaking into a very early morning noted only by the loud crow of a rooster that broke loud into the dark room.

“‘EY! WAKE UP TIME, KIDS!” A familiar voice rumbled out. Mabel jumped, and he snorted awake, head filled with troubled sleep and against fuzzy, disturbing images he couldn’t quite grab at. He felt dazed and still sleep induced, body teetering slightly in a half awake state.

“Nnnannnhg….” He moaned, staring dully in front of them, Mabel mimicking the half zombified state beside him as she grunted unintelligibly.

The cupboard door in front - and it seemed obvious now to him that that’s what it was - flew open. A patch of blue and red light filtered in, instantly devouring at the darkness around the two. 

“HEY, I SAID UP! Soos! Broom!” Before he could complain, or even register what was going on, a quick flash of yellow straw came and swept in from nowhere, smacking at them in a flurry of movement. Another voice came out in time with it in a, “Hey...sorry dudes.” from the holder of said broom, sounding particular cheerful despite the flat rudeness and the hour.

“AH! WE’RE UP! WE’RE UP!” Mabel cried, melding alongside his, “W-WE’RE GOING!”

What the hell had that been!? Dipper struggled to keep up with himself, even as he ended up bewildered and not definitely awake, darting out beside his sister.

The two sped out of the small space and scurried into the open house.

It was something like...an old fashioned mansion? Dipper blinked. Well. Sort of. Large and impressive, a ceiling towering over them with fine wooden finishing in an almost connective triangular design, large gold rimmed portraits, and old, hand crafted tables, also in that same kind of intricate lined triangular design spread against the floor. He took sight of some of the large portraits, all a mix of a golden haired girl with pale features and a dainty, snobbish expression. Even from up above she seemed to look down on the world, as if above it. Next to her were other portraits, two other shadowed ones with brown hair, alongside an older man in a tux and a fez. Somehow...familiar? But also a stranger to him as well.

He took in a line of pantries and counter top filled the wall opposite, adorned in further intricate designs and shapes craved carefully, crafted into the wood, and an archway leading out to another room where windows stretched extravagant to frame an impressive garden outside in the dim golden-red lights of dawn.

It was...something. And it baffled Dipper how little he could pull at where it had come from. Seconds ago, all he'd known was a dark, bizarre, and confined space.

The man that had been swatting at them, large, overweight, and...oddly friendly looking, gave a single hand lift wave in greeting and had then started very badly sweeping at the floor, dust exploding everywhere. The guy was dressed in similar barely tossed together rags, a kind of potato-sack-like-clothing, exactly same as the two of them. As Dipper continued to survey the place, he spotted the older man, gristly looking dressed up in a suit and a kinda fez balanced at his head sat at the table, legs crossed, an old newspaper in hand and seemed fully nonchalant about the awful sweeping thing as dust spread like clouds, completely indifferent. Same as in the portraits. Another twinge of familiarity, part in fondness, part in irritation came through him. Huh...

Dipper really couldn’t quite place the two. He was quite honestly still scrambling to even try and bring himself to remember _any_ of this. Nothing really happened, instead frustratingly sliding through his open fingers like sand.

Before he could try and push passed that confusion, suddenly, and without preamble, springing into the room was a girl decked out in jewels and fine clothing and trailing a cloud of makeup, blond hair bowed back in a ponytail - also the exact same as the portraits. He stared, eyes meeting two others, probably her lackies, as they came hustling on behind, their faces somehow fuzzy and unfocused to him. He blinked, uncertain of himself and rubbed at his eyes. They didn’t seem to come much into focus though...and he tilted his head uneasily, but dismissed it. No, it was...probably just the hour. Faces didn't just... _blur_ like that.

“Uuuugh, Pacifica.” Mabel muttered in a groan, breaking him from his uneasy thought, “Come on Dipster,” Mabel tugged at his dirty sleeve, glaring daggers at the trio.

“My, my, _my…_ ” Came the blond girl, Pacifica’s voice, holding out her hand adorned in jewelry. “If it isn’t the _Pine_ twins.” She turned up her nose. “Lessers like yourselves should be _grateful_ to be in such a perfect presence. Isn’t that right, daddy?” He raised a brow. Well. Okay then.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure thing, sweetie.” The older man dismissed with a gruntled wave, not even appearing to be listening with his eyes still at his paper.

Mabel puffed her cheeks. “Yeah!? Well. Just you wait, Pacifica. One day. One day a handsome prince will come and--and-and _take us away from here!_ ” She exclaimed boldly, all but dragging him off across the kitchen at the other girl’s ringing bell like laugh, a subtly gloved hand moving to cover her mouth. The two lackies rang with laughter as well, completing the stereotypical picture. Evil step siblings was definitely a reality right here.

Dipper rose a brow, all the while being dragged along.

“Gosh! I can’t _believe her_. What a jerk.” His twin muttered darkly, pulling him off toward a small closet hidden to the side of the room instead. And as Dipper’s gaze took in the whole of the surrounding, he couldn’t help but pull at that lost, confusing feeling that lingered against him. He glanced down as Mabel gathered up some cleaning supplies in a ruckus of defiant emotion; an old broom, a bucket and a mop. “Okay bro-bro.” She sighed then, seeming to steel herself back up, “I’ll mop, so you start on breakfast.” She forced him a toothy smile, and he noticed a baby one missing, holding her fist out. “Power twins?”

He blinked at her. But despite feeling totally at a loss, the nerves, the headache that still tapped, tapped, digging at his brain, a small grin still formed at his lips all the same. “Um...yeah. Power Twins.” He agreed sheepishly and punched her fist. That was definitely something he remembered, no doubt, at least. If nothing else, there was Mabel.

All and all. He guessed he could say it really wasn’t so bad. Well, it wasn’t good either, but it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. Somehow, maybe miraculously, he remembered exactly how he was supposed to cook and do the adjoining chores, as if he’d already done most of them a hundred times.

First scrub and scrape the potatoes. Second, rush to the farm and gather fresh eggs and milk. Grab some vegetables from the cellar. Next, start cooking.

It was hard work and it needed to be fast, which he was kind of grateful for as it kept his mind from wandering too much. All the while, their older relative was grunting up a storm, nitpicking every bit of work, but doing pretty much nothing else to lift a finger either. Right. Of course. In the same thread Pacifica rushed to get ready for who knew what, taking time occasionally to mock or point out any flaws, particularly with Mabel’s handiwork. Fortunately for them all, the older man didn’t seem bothered too much with the back and forth or Mabel’s threats to covering Pacifica’s room with stray cats and fists of fairy-glitter. Which, for some reason, he actually felt little reason to doubt considering everything. Fairy dust and cats. Why not?

Honestly, he had no idea how he and Mabel took this every single day though, but before he knew it, he was falling into some kind of half-remembered, instinctive and automatic routine. From breakfast (which they only got slices of bread, thanks to Pacifica. Whoopie.) to washing the clothes and cleaning more floors. From there to scrubbing the bathrooms, and from there the barn to clean out the pens and feed the animals.

The only respite was the man named “Soos,” apparently a servant or something of some kind, that was there to help and join in on some half assed mischief.

To be frank, Soos kind of became the cause of trouble more than he fixed it. But, strangely, somehow Dipper didn’t even mind. They still managed to laugh and attempt crazy things here and there throughout the day (like throwing rocks to hit an egg of Soos’s head, dress up in the scarecrows, or climb the roof to dislodge an overly active squirrel). You had to appreciate the little moments, he supposed.

Still...was this right?

Even as he went through the day, even as he worked, the world had this strange...mishaped, misstepped feeling to it.

Was this how things had always been?

It all felt wrong, whispering at the edge of his thoughts. Off Color. Every time he glanced around the corner, something just feeling not quite right. Like he were in a stage play, but had forgotten somewhere along the line, and lost simply sight of the audience entirely.

Beside that, his memories didn’t seem to place into anything correctly. Things felt surreal and confusing and he often scrambled to try and figure out where to place his next step, his footing unbalanced and uncertain and lost. A panic at the edge of his sight.

And even through it he could _swear_ he saw glimpses of unreality, things he couldn’t explain; teetering, laughing at the corner of his vision. He still felt a crawling feeling of “wrongness” overtaking him, still felt a strange dread every time he washed the intricate triangle ornate windows or glanced at the portraits as if they may actually be looking at him, watching his movements with a calculated gaze. But beside that, the day passed quickly, drowning him in activity and labor. Even though he hated it, he couldn’t deny that it almost seemed to be exactly what he needed. Over all it took all day without any rest, leaving him sore, aching, and losing track of things pretty fast. And before he even knew it, he was in a heap back in that same cupboard from the night before, breathing hard and covered head to toe in dirt. “Ugh. Wow. My _blisters_ have blisters.” He muttered to his sibling, pulling a reluctant arm up to show his sister the impressively fete of said blisters.

She giggled. “Your blisters have blisters? Well my blisters have **_FACES_ ** _!”_ She then promptly shoved a hand in his face which held oozing pus filled blisters that were...oddly shaped like the old man’s face. With strange fez hat, fat nose and all.

He laughed, pulling back, “Ewwww, gross, Mabel!” He cried then in a routine of utter familiarity, shoving at her, her still giggling all the while and poking and prodding him in a kind of tickle. “Knock it off!” He laughed again, shoving and poking back in a fit of a tickle/poking fight between them with very little mercy.

A slight bang came at the door, the sound of the butt of a broom. “‘EY! QUIET DOWN IN THERE, KIDS!”

Dipper and Mabel exchanged lighthearted glances, her shrugging a little with her hands to her face to stifle her laughter and him rolling his eyes with a slight grin.

“Sorry Grunkle Stan.” He called. Mabel puffed her cheeks, making a face at him, which he poked loose with a finger and a bit down a snicker.

And that was how that day had ended. Over all, not bad. Well, not exactly. Not the worst. Leaving him, laying up next to his sister, staring at a space on the ceiling, mind wandering while debating if it were mold or dirt that stuck there, and his sister snoring sloppily, clinging his arm like a stuffed animal, drooling freely. It felt...familiar. It felt right. It felt...safe. And oddly normal. It was...almost nice, in a weird...kind of messed up way. This life, whatever it was. At least he had Mabel here to bear it with him.

He let out a heavy breath. “Geez…” He whispered, though it came out a bit contentedly, yawning loudly, body tired and aching and so ready for sleep. Well, maybe the being tired to the bone was for the better. Hopefully he wouldn’t have anymore trouble sleeping tonigh--

 _"Tonight_."

A soft tremor ran through him, freezing his mind.

The world around shifted in a violent twist, suddenly spinning to life with a swarm of dark, vibrantly cold colors, the temperature wrenching his being into a fierce, bone deep cold; the shapes spinning in a whirlwind, his body springing into a kind of vertigo as a new world built up all around him. Pieces piling high like building blocks in his view.

And he gasped, shuddering. Without warning he was standing in a field. A gaping maw of a purple sky and a colored, dark landscape spread before him. Odd. Odd. _Wrong._

_Get out, get out, get out, get out.._

A panic clutched at his chest, worming, clinging to his spine. The thoughts, the terror, the eerie feeling of it came from no where. Snatching onto him, and burying themselves into his nerve endings. Electricity stinging at his brain.

No...no. It wasn’t just a field. The stalks of grass towered like thin, purple spears of light instead, endlessly stretching against the horizon in tips of black, towering around him, skulls stuck along their tips, cackling while blowing in the fierce breeze. The sky was a mess of deep purple. Horribly, twistingly familiar.

His heart stopped on itself, breath caught in a harsh, strangled knot in his throat; eyes wide and fueled in utter disbelief.

The skulls began to cackle louder, their voices shifting at an abrupt chorus of uneven laughter.

“The man, the man, the man who burned it all--!

Says he’s in peace but can’t be at ease

The man, the prince, the creature that would be

In the slights and the shifts and the destruction of cosmic sea

Drowning your life in lies

Drowning your sorrow in cheers

Drowning it all to no tomorrow for allll

Rings, rings, rings DESTRUCTION DAY!”

And there they were. A mess of cackling of bobble-headed clacks and movement spun and sung all around in a vast of skeletal field. Fierce, startled chills of fear rushed to life, pinpricks exploding against his skin and he looked sharply around, taking a step back, eyes blown wide, a panic and denial abruptly fighting through him, grasping his chest feverish and utterly cold. “NO! No, I-I didn’t--” Where...was that denial coming from? It felt so strong. So right. So _angry_. He took another step back, breath hitching at the cool laughter, the piercing gaze of accusatory, knowing skeletal faces, “It wasn’t--YOU’RE WRONG! I-I MADE IT _BETTER!_ ” He cried, voice suddenly breaking tune, defiance in every note, lingering only a hint of desperation and furious, explosive anger. “I MADE IT **_BETTER--_ ** !” He exclaimed again, loud and fierce and **_certain_ ** . More than certain. And they would be certain too if they'd known, if they'd _lived_ in that hell hole-they didn't _understand--_

A moon held like static above him stood in a repeat of a cloudy sky that went skipping and playing back, skipping and playing, skipping and playing back; suddenly the heads and field following suit like a broken film. A mocking chorus, over, and over, and over, and over, voice rising in a deafening wave everywhere around, drowning him out, drowning his words,

“The mAN, THE MAN, THE MAN WHO BURNED IT ALL-” He grit down, clutching his ears. “SAYS HE’S IN PEACE BUT CAN’T BE AT **_EASE--_ **”

“SHUT UP! YOU’RE WRONG, YOU _PATHETIC--YOU--_ **_WORTHLESS-_ **”

His voice had shifted, unnoticed then. His tone taking on higher, colder, harsher, more fierce and monstrously, defiantly unhinged. All the while the anger, the grief, the fury rose through him like a roiling snake, ready to strike, like a viscous unrelenting force of nature, consuming every inch of his being. The field lit on fire. Great, vast flames of dark, endless black, licking in greying outlines at the colors around. He let out a roar, stamping his foot forward, the flames eating at the scene spread out before him. Let them die, LET THEM BURN--

Across the field, a man abruptly heaved himself up onto the hilly side, reaching a gloved hand out to him in shock. He turned his gaze, his own fists clutching at his hair, glimpsing the desperation; the older’s face shadowed and hard to make out.

Even in his rage, he knew that man.

" _YOU."_ The words fell from him, coiled into the anguish, the madness, the rage and fury; turning his eyes on the broad form. 

Static sprung up around, like that of an old TV, like a bizarre, terrifying glitch in reality. Very vivid, fleshy eyeballs opened up in the fabric of the sky, looking down at him. Except he was seeing through them. Seeing everything. They were his eyes and he was theirs. Somewhere the chorus continued, but his attention remained on the man, six fingers reaching his way, heaving himself along the morbid field his way.

“DIPPER! DIPPER, CAN YOU **_HEAR_ ** ME!? MY BOY! PLEASE CAN YOU **_HE-⍑⍒⍫⎏⍾⍲⏄⏃⏂⏁⏀⏅--_ ** 𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂𝍑𝍐𝍇𝍆𝍅𝍂 **_DIPPER---_ ** _DON’T give--DON’T-_ ”

A snap.

Without warning his eyes snapped open in a rush of panic, a yell tearing, ripping from his throat and bursting around him.

In a race of a wrenching heartbeat he flew up, eyes locking front of him in cold disbelief, sweat drenching him cold.

The red and blue rays of morning snuck through the bottom of the tiny cupboard. A rooster crowed somewhere. Song birds sang in the distance, and a biting breeze wore its way through the cracks and holes in the still and settled room.

He blinked, panting hard and fast, fists gripped white, eyes scanning all around him fiercely and in wild panic.

The...same room. No skulls. No demons. No man.

God. The same tiny wooden room.

The boy let out a deep breath, bringing a hand to his chest. Relief consuming him, shaking him to his core.

“Holy crap...” He whispered hoarsely, _so_ glad to be back, _so_ glad to find some semblance of normality, so glad to be grounded and real and alive. And _here_. His other hand pushed his bangs upward, glancing carefully down to his somehow still slumbering sister, still shaking. Still numb with relief.

Except...no. His whole body froze, heart stuttering instead to another halt, before hand terror lighting back into him like a match.

He stared at her. Her whole body was glowing a bright teal blue. An array of dots scattered on the dark floor beneath her, springing to life and forming some kind of mix of symbols; bright lines connecting dots like that between stars in the vast night sky. And before he knew it they shown in the darkness like white beacons: Orion's Belt, Taurus...Ursa Minor. 

He stared, wild in confusion and cold panic as it leapt to him once again; a fierce familiarity flying through him at the image and scrambled back in shock, gaze shifting automatically upwards just to land on a spot a mirror was held hidden, before unseen, cracked and dusted at the farther wall, his eyes locking onto his own fierce, shining yellow ones - filled each with tiny, cat like slits; the Little Dipper birthmark glowing furiously blue with a brutal, fiercely manic smile spreading up against his clearly thirteen year old face; hair and clothes floating gently against an unseen force of air, his alter’s skin and a burst of blue flames dancing behind, ravenously licking at the sides of the glass frame.

 _“AH-HAH-HAH-HAH-AH-HAH-HAH-HAH”_ His reflection laughed and laughed, bursting out while holding out his hands like claws among the fire, and he stared in utter, stupid shock at the thing, heart pounding viciously, swarming up to strangle him, his head, his _head_ , god pounding so violently - thrilling, breaking open, splitting with the pain - HIS HEAD --

Before waking with another strangled gasp, covered entirely in cold sweat. Again. He stared, breath coming in in gulps and waves. A ceiling. A dark ceiling. The roosters. It was morning.

The young teen turned frantically, feeling sick, rolling over to see Mabel. But she wasn’t glowing. She was the _same_. Same old Mabel. Curled up beside him, snoring a storm, hair a mess and drooling freely. It felt real this time. It _had_ to be real this time.

He felt a relieved breath leave him in a rush, his body feeling cold and clammy and numb. He brought a hand to his chest, the feeling of his racing heart pumping rhythmically against his fingers.

“What the hell…” He whispered softly, panic edged against him, to no one, nausea constricting every sense, staring in worry against the wooden ceiling, and glancing one more time to his sister in hopes she would remain the same. She did. And he took another breath of cold, heavy, fresh air. 

He needed to steady himself. 

Seriously.

Everything then was just too much.

He needed to just...steady himself.

He shut his eyes, trembling fingers moving to pinch hard at the bridge of his nose.

It was fine.

This was fine.

 _All of this_ was fine. Everything was fine. He could handle this. He could do this.

He was just...these were just nightmares.

The rooster crowed again outside, a reminder of the time. Of where he was. He was here. He was here. Here existed. Didn't it? It had to. Because...he needed it to.

Dipper continued there, steadying himself, breathing, taking in every breath moment by dragging moment. Grounding himself back into the world. Back into the wood. Back into himself. Trying hard to keep himself level and calm and collected. Logical. He was Dipper. Dipper Pines. He was here. In this cupboard. Dipper. He was Dipper. Human.

And even despite himself, the fret and fear, in time, as the breath came and went, grounding him, he began to become more and more calm. More and more clear against the world. More and more collected. Each breath guiding him back to the moment.

And for once, he slipped into a dreamless sleep. Exhausted against the stiff, cold wooden floorboards. Not quite ready for the breaking of the new day ahead or the distorted nonsensical dreams that trailed in his behind.


	2. Twin Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A BALL? In which Mabel crafts and Dipper works...or something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Full disclosure: I am a total noob (what is that even a thing anymore) at fanfic writing. Well….publishing. And well, you know finishing. I have like a whole googledocs folder crammed with 100 half written trash Gravity Falls and such fics, and now that I’ve tossed one of ‘em up this is the first time I’ve actually felt _obligated_ to like...post things. What is this?? Anyways, I’m following the “1,000 bad drawings” rule of thumb and just pumping out whatever I can until things...stop being quite so rocky and sucky.

“Dipper. Hey. Psssst.”

He felt heavy.

God, it was actually...really, really nice. His body weighted in every inch like lead, heavy against the floor, heavy against his bones, the feeling pulling at every limb and muscle. The weariness was nothing in this space. In the solitude of it. He could’ve stayed like this for good, absent to the chaos and nerves and confusion.

Something prodded at his cheek, warm and solid, and he groaned, forcing an eye open on automatic, breaking the brief lapse into solidity.

A pair of deeply colored brown eyes peered back at him, a grin breaking in the shadows of her face; curtains of orange lights against them signalling dawn.

Right.

He was here again.

Wherever here was.

Dipper, despite himself, felt a little sharper. A little more...solid. Real. Balanced. He couldn’t place if it was the solid...what, hour? Thirty minutes? Of stone cold, dead sleep, but things didn’t seem quite so panicked, rocky and shaken. The constant headache that had been slicing through him into pieces was still there, allowing itself to be known in a fierce, brilliant throb, but he held to that kind of space of heaviness that granted _some_ sense of relief and focus.

He took a breath.

“Right.” He repeated aloud this time, rubbing absently at his forehead, the pain throbbing in a horrible, but at least more _manageable_ ache. His fingers slipped against the gentle indents of his birthmark, and he paused in just a moment’s hesitation. The feelings from one of his many distorted dreams abruptly crept back to him, images of glowing stars flaring just behind his eyes, just to be snuffed out again with a mental shake. _Nope._ Not the time to focus on that. He got to his feet, feeling a bit more steady, with a bit more purpose than before.

This was where he needed to be right now. He had to get it together. He couldn't afford to slip down that slope.

Mabel grinned beside him, the twin climbing to her feet and giving his shoulder an abrupt smash of a fist, giggling in triumph. She punched surprisingly hard for her size.

“That’s right, bro-bro! We’re _up!_ We’re _at ‘em!_ We’re DOING THIS!” She hyped, like a coach spouting out rough encouragement during some kind of convoluted training montage. It suited her. Dipper offered a weak, tipping to amused grin, snorting away the punch and rubbing at the ache left behind. 

“H-Hey, come on.” He chuckled, but honestly couldn’t be farther from upset. She gripped her fists together, clearly ready for the day ahead.

“YEAH! TWIN POWER! CAN’T BE BEATEN! _HEAR THAT WORLD!?”_ The other demanded, looking about at the large mansion as if ready to step into the ring, daring the world to stand before her power. Dipper snorted again at the sudden image of Mabel in a tussle against earth itself, laughing before flipping the girl’s long hair straight over her face.

“Dork.” He needled her lightheartedly, punching a much lighter throw at her shoulder. She returned the laugh loudly, peeking the hair apart like curtains and grinned bright and in truimph.

“Pssh, you love me.” She returned, before a spark gleamed in her eyes. “Okay! Listen Dipster, we gotta take this _serious_ today. Yesterday while I was running errands in town you won’t _BELIEVE_ what I found out.” She readied him.

Dipper had already moved his way across the polished floor, pausing by the pantry to collect everything needed for breakfast, half listening to his sister’s incoming rant.

“Hm. Alright. I’ll bite. What.” He indulged freely, pulling out the basket of eggs, considering at some of the wheat and cutlery. Milk. He’d need to go get milk. Wash some potatoes, collect from the garden, the usual. Honestly, he was getting closer and closer to remembering the old life here. Little bits and pieces fitting through the cracks of his distorted mind, springing into the blank spaces and building against one another. 

A slight unnerve reached against his heart, slipping into his chest. Building on each other. Like legos clicked together, one hand at a time. Something felt...disturbingly wrong about that.

“There’s a _BALL_ , Dipper. A **_ball._ **” She enthused, breaking him clear from the deep, unsettled unease, dancing up behind him and grabbing him from behind in far too much excitement to be legally viable considering their current plot in life. He shook himself back to the moment, taking hold of Mabel’s antics like a lifesaver.

“So what? You know we can’t go to one of those things. We’re poor and like...you know, peasants. Or whatever. Um. Probably.” He dismissed, trying not to linger in what little he _did_ know and continued his mental checklist, already running some water for the potatoes and bringing out a knife to shave off the skin.

“PSH! Obstacles!” She dismissed at once, the fire of Mabel’s determination already so clear in her voice as she prodded at his head. Honestly he _knew_ when she got her mind on something she was basically impossible to sway. This had never been something she’d grown out of, not at any point in their lives. And he couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at him, shaking his head in weary reluctance. Even before they started this dumb dance of theirs, he already knew the outcome.

“Pretty big obstacles, you know. They definitely won’t let us in. And not like _this,_ Mabel _._ ”

“Pshaw! Then we’ll just have to make some clothes! _Nice_ ones! And, _besides_ , we’re not **_technically_ ** poor. We’re nobles, Dipster! NOBLES! Just...uh, well. With...difficult circumstances. After...Uncle Ford.” She wavered awkwardly, voice trailing off, a certain unsettled strain there. A certain unspoken something that maybe shouldn’t need to be said. But...that maybe he needed to be said? His knife stuttered to a halt, the potato slipping a bit in his grasp. Nobels...? Uncle...Ford? He frowned against the sink, mind following back into churning, reluctant gears as it drew a sharp blank. As panic bit, nibbling back at his chest, his nerves, his mind...and his still throbbing head. Spinning against itself. He didn’t dare ask what that meant. And he didn’t allow the nerves that had baffled and swallowed him from the day before rear their ugly heads and tear him apart again. 

So he didn’t remember that. So what. Life moved on.

He quickly pushed past it, locking it away in a dark, deep corner of his head; tied away with chains and nonchalance.

“Right, well. Okay. Still, you really think Grunkle Stan will actually let us go?”

“PSH!” She repeated again as if this in itself were answer, ruffling at his hair, to which Dipper grinned and threw her an annoyed look, nudging her in both irritation and affection. She grinned teasingly in return. “He won’t care! So long as we get all our chores done, it’ll be fiiiiine!” She admonished, sounding absolutely sure of herself and her goals. Mabel was like that. Always so ready to fight and create. Always ready to get into trouble when need be. Always ready to go haywire up a mountainside of unreason and impossibility on a whim. She had a certain kind of buoyant crazy and easy, bright ambition and cheer that Dipper could only envy. And somehow, despite the impossibility of things, the stars always seemed to align together in the wild ride of her schemes and, honestly often more than not, grant her impossible success. It was bizarre and honestly, to most people, probably infuriating. But to him, it was just Mabel.

All the same. Dipper just wasn’t the idealist like his sister. He was logical and held tight to the grounded reality, the calculated; reigning in his twin’s antics as if on some kind of pull of yang to yin. All and all Dipper already figured it wasn’t hard to see that this wasn’t going to end very well. It seemed pretty obviously foolhardy to assume they could just _waltz_ right into crashing a rich person’s ball, the two of them covered in their grimy selves, wearing nothing but peasant sacks, fingers scraped and blistered with old and new sores, the revealing of half a life of hard work. They were servants, basically, and that wasn’t changing anytime soon. And while they didn’t exactly tout the typical demeanors or forlorn, drawn or respective demeanors of ones; while they still laughed and joked and made the best of this situation...this was still simply reality. And this was just how it was. No reason to deny it.

Then again. On the other hand none of that even _mattered_. Not really. He knew pretty well his sister could drag him into almost anything. No matter how much it cost either of them. Like he said, when they played these games, he usually knew just how they were going to end, regardless of the craziness of it. They had each other’s backs. And he couldn’t bring himself to say no when she really asked him to help out or get involved with something. 

He laughed.

“Okay, okay. Just...let’s be sure not to step on too many toes, okay? I don’t want to get in even more trouble with Grunkle Stan or he’ll probably put us outside in one of those dog houses for good or something.”

“Nooo he won’t! He _loves_ us!” Dipper snorted at that statement, shaking his head at the thought. Alright, sure, Mabel. But he was still grinning ear to ear just the same. 

Alright, alright. Really. What was it _really_ going to hurt? They’d go and crash a ridiculous ball. “First thing’s first!” She slammed a fisted hand to the other palm, eyes sparkling in determination and excitement. “Clothes! A sparkly gown for me, and a nice, snazzy tux for you!” She grinned, turning to him and grabbing his hands suddenly, jumping up and down in giddy excitement. “This’ll be PERFECT! Oh! I’m going to go through the stuff Pacifica and the other dumb butts have thrown out. I’m _SURE_ I can throw us something together in time!” And she began to break off to dash across the room, before hastily pausing at the arcway, “Um...that kind of leaves you alone...with all the chores?” Her voice hung on a kind of pleading, tense question that she _had_ to already know he couldn’t refuse. He rolled his eyes, raising a brow her way and gestured dully, predictable, at the exit. She squealed again with delight, giving him two thumbs up before disappearing in a flash of long brown hair and way too good vibes.

He laughed, just shaking his head again. Geez. She was going to bury him in her plotting one day. It was already known to happen.

He went back to shaving the potatoes, quickly working double time so as not to fall too far behind on all the work looming ahead. It was lucky no one had gotten up early today. Maybe it was a weekend? He couldn’t actually be sure, but it worked just as well for him, honestly. All he’d have to do was work through all these tasks and hope he didn’t get too much brunt for being slower than usual what with his partner in crime off...well, causing chaos. Of the glitter, fabric, and crafts kind.

The sun rose slow, but definitely not slow enough; peeking like a flaming red dome against the golden fields outside. Dipper ran back and forth in a rush, quick to pull everything together, skipping things where he could and finding himself frantic to work through the anxiety that had begun to slowly build with the daunting task after task after task. This definitely wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped it would be. He hadn’t actually anticipated the extent, honestly. Fortunately only Soos came into the scene as he was throwing soapy water to the ground, frantic to scrub away at the ground; breakfast cooking at in a sizzle at the stove.

“Alright, just gotta--” He switched like a light, flashing from turning the pans and pots to balancing teetering dishes to haphazardly swashing the mop this way and that; all the while desperate to not fall over and destroy everything in this damn nerve infested dance.

Soos watched him, giving the room a good hearted chuckle.

“Sup Dipper, dude! Whatchya doin, like...some kind of monkey dance? Oh, hey! Can I join? I dance like a _ninja_ , dude.” He beamed as he confided in the teen, who glared back in a kind of disbelieving, frazzled state, a fork caught somehow in his odd mess of hair, his sleeve already catching fire, and some eggs and oils staining his face and clothes _beautifully_. He winced.

“What-- _NO_ . I’m--ugh, I’m...working.” He quickly turned to his sleeve, giving out a squeaking cry of shock and shaking the thing like he were shaking off a crazed demon bat. _Christ_. And with that the boy grunted, plowing a mess of brown hair into his head in worried disbelief. “Okay.” He braced himself in a steady breath. “This...might be more difficult than I...thought it was going to be.” Admitting it seemed like the first step to getting his brain back together and back on track. Getting things back to where they needed to be. 

_‘Just, calm down, Dipper.’_ He thought, frantically. _‘You can figure this out.’_ No big deal. Just had to grow a whole other body or freeze time somehow.

Soos chuckled again, “Oh, uh, alright, dude.

“But…” He hesitated, glancing up at the other. Unease clawed in. Was...this really a good idea? His brain turned, sharp and fast, spilling in anxiety, working itself into a fasttrack. Soos didn’t seem like the type to trust in a pinch like this, as much as he enjoyed his company. “Uh, actually...I could kind of use some help?” Well, here went nothing. Or everything. Depending.

He prayed to God Soos wouldn’t actually end up making things worse. That would not make this situation any more bearable. Or their ball plan going off very well if he ended up destroying half the kitchen. Sounded pretty likely, his cynical side poked in unhelpfully. He wished he could smack that side of him right about now.

“Oh yeah, totally, dude.” Soos nodded wisely. He felt relief edge at the tensions stringing his shoulders, letting out a quick breath despite his uncertainty. This was something he’d just have to trust.

“Okay, um. Just. Can you do the cleaning? I gotta take care of--” His eyes flashed to the smoke pluming from one of the pans and a yelp escaped him, leaping to the oven with a quick, _“Holy shit--_ ” And making to rescue his eggs in a rush of frantic movement. He panicked, pouring a bit of water in and--oh thank god. They were still okay. Er. Sort of. Enough. He quickly stirred at them, muttering rapidly under his breath, sweat furrowing his brow. Mabel would kill him if he botched this night.

“Hahah. Sure, thing dude! But uh. If you want to break it down later, I can _totally_ break it down. Got some real killer moves.” All the same Soos put finger and forefinger together, offering a sort of quick salute, taking hold of the mop and getting to work. Which was more than enough. Seriously. He could practically kiss the overweight man as he ran around, trying to hyper focus on what needed to get done.

Dawn climbed quickly, and all in all he only _partly_ singed the eggs. Still perfectly edible. Mostly. Kind of. Besides, wasn’t carbon supposed to be really good for you? He’d sworn he read that somewhere. 

The rooster cawed it’s usual crowing tune into the daybreak as his grunkle filed into the room, followed by a disheveled, still sleep worn Pacifica. He had no idea where tweedle-dee and tweedle-dumb had lingered off to. And frankly, he found he didn’t care. Less people the better. Dipper at that point had already made sure to steal away a good portion of breakfast this time for him, Soos and Mabel; sneaking it into their cupboard-room for later. Right now, he was just relieved Soos had only broken like, two plates and a broom in his plight of helping him out and...well, the floors weren’t great. But it was _something_ . And in his mind, something was always better than _nothing_. He could work with this.

“Hey kid, what the heck?” His grunkle lifted a fork of far too blackened eggs. He offered a weak, nervous grin.

“Um. Carbon’s good for your heart?” He offered, trying it out for a shot. 

The old man squinted at the eggs, before shrugging with a, “Eh. Good enough for me.” And kept on with breakfast. Pacifica seemed disgusted, but before there could be any kind of added drama to the day or demands for a recook Dipper was already on the escape, moving into the main living room to carry on the rest of his chores. He’d have to do this right. Working fast and focused. _No_ goofing off. _No_ messing around. Just _work_. At least if Mabel wanted this thing to even attempt to go off. Sometimes he wasn’t sure how she roped him into these things. Not that it would ever change, probably.

He’d already brought the unbroken broom around with a keen, fierce concentration when, glancing up, they met with a way too large belly right before him.

Dipper yelped in startled surprise, frantically grabbing at the falling broom and turning wildly to look up; clinging instinctively to the broom like some kind of death grip safetynet. 

Soos chuckled.

“Told ya, dude! _Like a ninja_.”

* * *

“Stupid...Grunkle...Stupid...work…stupid...ball dance...” Work. Ugh. And _more_ work. And more work! It had been a nonstop movement, one thing to the next, exhaustion spinning into nerves while feeling almost desperate to sprout another pair of arms. “It’s just one day.” The teen reminded himself calmly, scrubbing stupidly at the old bathroom on the second floor. “One day and that’s it. And...I don’t know. Maybe we’ll go to a dance...? Or something?” Why did he want to do this again?

Honestly, he hadn’t lingered too far on the thought. And honestly, Dipper hated dances, even the regular boring barnyard kinds. They weren’t really his thing. He’d much rather sneak into the old library he’d caught sight of earlier that day and spend maybe a week holed up in there, nose in any book that’d catch interest. But he hadn’t even had the chance to _glimpse_ at them he was so overworked, let alone to hole himself up next to one. He did however make a mental note to sneak back in there and steal a few for later cupboard nighttime reading. Sleep? Hah! Who really put value in that, anyways.

The thought felt familiar, and he couldn’t really place why. Better not to think about it. That was a good idea. Not thinking seemed the way to go lately.

Thoughts instead turned to Mabel’s schemes, maybe of getting out of this dumb mansion for a night, at least giving something to put his mind to outside of everything else. 

Reality seemed a bit more stable than before. A bit more complete. And, honestly, even though Soos managed to unintentionally make way more messes than was helpful, he still had to admit he had helped out enough to keep things afloat without Mabel who was currently barricaded in one of the many spare rooms, presumably with all kinds of sewing material and spare clothing that the snobbish trio were sick of wearing. What rich, stuck up assholes. Pacifica and co were the worst.

He grunted, working at a particularly stubborn piece of dry muck, wincing in the toil of his everlasting bathroom cleaning battle against Grunkle Stan’s mysterious substances and smells before the door flew open behind him with a bang.

“IT’S FINISHED!” A voice cried suddenly, causing him to scream and leap into the air, before slipping and falling back down with a thud.

_Ow._

Dipper glared and groaned weakly, peering from his wet heap to see Mabel silhouetted against the door, arms thrown out in gayly, bright triumph. Oh hell. On the bright side, he was pretty sure he’d just chipped loose that grunkle-muck. Along with his actual teeth. He forced himself to sitting, rubbing at his head with a distant, “ _Mabel_ , seriously…?” 

“SERIOUSLY!” She enthused, mistaking his chiding, irritated tone for something else entirely. “Close your eyes Diparoonie, and prepare to be amazed!” She commanded, bouncing in place. It was only now he noticed her whole body was covered with bits of cloth and glitter and craft materials; springing like a nest in her hair and clothing.

He rolled his eyes, but obliged. Didn’t mean he was getting up though. This patch of ground was where he was going to lay to rest for good. 

“ _Dipper_ .” She groaned, half in excitement, half in exasperation. “I meant _after_ we go to the other room!” And without ado, she reached down, tugged at his arm, and dragged him up to his feet. Well, it was worth a shot. He was tired enough to lay in the soapy ground forever at this point.

The girl tugged along and he followed before they reached a space down the hall. She threw her hands over his eyes. “Okay. No peaking.” She commanded promptly, giggle bubbling in her voice. Then, while Dipper stood there obligingly, wondering how bad this was going to be, she hurried into the room. Heard shuffling around as he stood there, arms crossed, waiting patiently. “OKAY COME IN!” She announced brightly. He peered open an eye, and then another, looking into the space before him.

It was of course, an old sewing room, abandoned, though only presumably beyond Mabel’s hijinks over the years. And held up by two coat hangers were the pieces of the hour. Dipper frowned, considering them, stepping slowly into the room. The dress was actually...not half bad. Actually, he had to admit, it looked half decent. Bright green with frills tucked up at the bottom and a deeper green bow laced at the front. It had loose straps, a curving, cloudy center cut and ruffles down bunching near the edges. It looked like it would hug Mabel’s features with a decent enough fit and all in all, it was kind of...really passable actually. And then the suit…

“Huh.” He said simply, looking it over as she handed it to him eagerly.

“ _Great_ , am I right? SIGH! I am just a miracle worker, what can I say, Dipster.” She confirmed to the room at large, nodding her head as if unable to contain the curse that was her greatness.

Dipper turned it over in hand. It had probably come from one of the lackeys. What was their names? He didn’t know (or care) but it was also a dark, dark green; much darker than Mabel’s dress. Soft and silk like at the touch with a black bow tie hung at the front. Beneath it was a milky white dress shirt, and all in all, it was actually _nice_. He honestly couldn’t believe it. His eyes turned up to his grinning sister.

“Mabel, these are... _great_ .” He said, surprised at how shocked he sounded. Probably good to dial down the shock, but right now, he couldn’t pull himself away from it. He honestly had never expected this to _work_. At all. She beamed.

“I KNOW! Now. We have like...um. Maybe an hour? To get to the dance.” She took in a breath, “I’m going to meet Candy and Grenda beforehand to plot some…” And she giggled, “Ritsy _boy_ hunting.” Her expression hesitated. “Um...are you okay getting there on your own?”

Man. All that work today and now she wanted to ditch him for her friends. Of course that was how it would turn out. And while he kind of had to work out who Candy and Grenda even were, pressumably they had a plan in place to sneak in. So much for Power Twins.

But he also couldn’t say no. Not to that look. He rolled his eyes.

“Sure, sure thing, Mabel. Just...you know, tell me how to get there.” Maybe he could steal one of the goats in the barn and take it as a ride. Hey, maybe it would even be a good dance partner. The sardonic thought caused an internal eye roll at that. Man this was probably not going to be a lot of fun. At least he was getting out though, right?

“OKAY! Well, it’s easy. You know, it’s just down the river to the left, and keep going down, you can use it as a shortcut. If you keep going, eventually it leads over a hill and _right_ to the Cipher mansion!” She exclaimed, jumping up and down.

He raised a brow.

“The Cipher what now.”

“The CIPHER MANSION! Come on, Dip, you know the place. It’s like the fanciest in all the kingdom.” She snorted, as if he _hadn’t_ heard the name a million and one times before. Which he hadn’t. He actually hadn’t heard almost anything about anything one million times before. Or _any_ times before.

Screw it.

“Yeah, alright, alright.” He waved her off, folding his arms. She beamed at him.

“Thank you so, so, _so_ much brother! OKAY, IloveyouI’llseeyoulaterdon’tbelate--BYE!” The girl threw her arms around him all at once, bracing him in a deep hug. He couldn’t help the light laugh that broke out at it, ruffling at her hair automatically before she pulled away and skipped off. He paused, grinning...before a thought suddenly struck him.

“Wait, hey, WAIT, WHAT DO WE TELL GRUNKLE STAN!” He said suddenly, yelling after her with cupped hands. But she was already out in the hall.

“YOU’LL THINK OF SOMETHING!” She called in return, apparently already dashing down the stairs and from the sound of it, two at a time.

“UGH.” He groaned, placing a palm at his head. Of course. But...well, come on, that was to be expected of his sister. Dipper lifted his head and stared at the suit again, taking in the shades of green and the way it shifted in the light. Well. Whatever happened, he guessed there was no turning back now.


End file.
